A Lion in Wolf's Clothing
by Darthrath
Summary: What would happen to the game if monsters, witchers, and sorceresses roamed the world of Westeros? Let's find out in this tale. M for gore, language, and adult themes. Disclaimer: I do not own the witcher or Game of Thrones. Those with that honor are our fearless leader's: Andrzej Sapkowski and George RR Martin.
1. Chapter 1

**The conjunction of the spheres**

Thousands of years ago when the first men roamed the land, before the children of the forest or even white walkers existed, a great and terrible cataclysm took place. It was during this conjunction, that magic was born into the world. Most would think this to be a benefit to mankind, but what came with it, was the true disaster. For along with the magic came the monsters. Ghouls, giants, griffins, vampires, werewolves, and hundreds more. Even dragons. Then again, there were also elves, dwarves, and the children of the forest, who had taken up the sword in a war with the first men. While their war raged, the other two races remained neutral and spread themselves all over the world in forests and mountains. That was until the children, in their desperation, made something a thousand times worse than the men themselves. White walkers.

Children, men, elves, and dwarves. The walkers did not distinguish, nor did they show mercy. They killed hundreds from all the races and even managed to turn monsters into their ice soldiers. Eventually, the four races united as one to fight and eventually defeat their common enemy, driving the walkers to the lands of always winter. Once that was done, Bran the builder, with the assistance of dwarves and elves, created the wall. A giant structure that stretched from horizon to horizon and stood at a tall seven hundred and eighty feet. Not long after that was accomplished, the men realized they still had a monster infestation. The vile beasts had claimed hundreds of territories everywhere in their land. That was when the men turned to magic for help. For years, they studied it and watched how the elves and dwarves harnessed it. Spell casting, alchemy, potions, and much more. Thanks to this, sorcerers and sorceresses were born. Immortal beings that were powerful, but infertility was the price of their magic use. Then, came the witchers. At first, they were men. Hunters that became skilled enough to kill the vile creatures that plagued their land. Like the Night's Watch, they were sworn to hold no titles, father no children, and take no wife. They were legendary monster killers for hire. Respected by the people for their deeds along with keeping cities and villages safe under their watchful eyes. Until the witcher's began mutating their apprentices.

They became expert killers with gold cat eyes. Still human, but superior at the same time because of their enhanced senses and increased longevity. Just like the sorceresses, these mutations came with a price. They were infertile, making their vows useless. Along with gaining a visage similar to a corpse. There was also their ability to drink potions that would otherwise kill a human, elf, or dwarf. Eventually, the witcher's made schools and fortresses to station them. The schools were spread all over Westeros, taking areas suited to their style. They took jobs and only participated in wars if it was absolutely necessary. They were spat on almost everywhere. 'Mutant' many would call them. According to the High Septon, witcher's were impure in the light of the seven. The warriors did not care however. Only about killing monsters and how much coin they were getting. Of course, there wasn't many of their kind. Young boys rarely survived being a witcher. Let alone the risks out in the field. The schools were fortunate to have as many as they did. The rest is history. When Aegon: The Conqueror first came to Westeros and built his empire, the witcher's were looked to for help against the Targaryen, but none came. Like the lord's, the witcher's bent the knee, only needing to see the Balerion: The Black Dread. The warrior's could have tried killing Aegon and his beast. Might've even succeeded. But they would have lost many and the world world's defense against monsters would be weakened. So, if one were careful to look at the iron throne, they would not only see melted steel sword's, but also a few dozen silver one's in the mix as well.

**262 AC**

The full moon hung high that night. Making almost everything visible. Especially since it was not accompanied by clouds. So, the woman rushing through the trees below on her horse was able to see as she kicked her mount. Not sparing the poor animal as they sped to her destination. Not only was she in a hurry to get there, but the howling behind her certainly was not helping. Her green eyes looked down at the baby in her free arm as the other held the reins tightly. Somehow, her child was able to sleep as the horse shook them and the hungry wolves behind gave chase. A tear went down her face, not wanting her child to die as she looked behind to see the many blurs getting closer. Her blonde hair flowed wildly in the wind as she pushed the horse to go as fast as possible. The brown mare did as told, trying to move faster as it's hooves sounded like thunder. The woman looked up with hope as she saw it. Kaer Morhen. A huge fortress built into a mountain. Three large towers greeted her sight along with a tall gate and deep mote. The drawbridge was down and she could see many torches lining atop of the cobblestone walls. The portcullis, however, was currently lowered. Preventing anyone unwelcome from entering.

"HELP! HELP ME!" she screamed to anyone that would hear in the silence of the area, "SOMEONE HELP!"

She was getting closer and closer to the bridge, hearing a wolf snap at her horse's legs. This woke her son, who had started crying as she screamed more. Her heart almost jumped for joy as the portcullis creaked and started to rise up into the gate. A man was standing there at the bridge, a sword in hand as he waited. His cat eyes watched her and the wolves trailing as his hand clenched around the broadsword in preparation. She rushed past him and into a courtyard. She watched as the man raised his arm and a powerful gust of wind left his palm, sending five of the wolves into the air and down to the pit where wooden spike were waiting to impale them. She didn't stay to watch. Dozens of other men were waiting for her in the courtyard as she stopped her horse and her son still cried. They also had the same gold cat eyes as the man fighting the wolves off. Some were wearing small clothes, showing that they'd just rose from their beds, while others wore armor and two swords. One on the back, another at the hip. They also had wolf medallions around their necks. She was helped down from her mount as she assumed who was the leader stepped toward her. He was a large man, dwarfing her greatly in size as his gray hair hung around his shoulders.

"What is your name and business here?" he asked in a deep voice with the Northern accent mixed in.

She waited until the babe was calm and asleep in her arms again before answering as she heard the portcullis close not far away. The man that saved her was back behind the walls with his brethren, his sword coated with fresh blood.

"My name is Kaela. I am here because this is the safest place for my son." Kaela answered as she held him to the man, "Please. I beg you. Take him. He will die if you don't."

The noblewoman was pleading as she got to her knees, holding up her child to the witcher in front of her. The man stepped forward and too the boy into his gloved hands. The child still slept as the monster killer looked down at him and held him close to keep the baby warm in the cold air. The witcher was silent until he looked back down to the beautiful blond woman.

"Why give us your child? Would you not rather him go and become a proud and noble knight or something of the sort?" he asked.

Kaela shook her head sadly. The witcher took in her appearance as she slowly answered. She wore a torn and tattered tunic. Crimson and gold was it's colors as she also wore gloves, boots, and a fur cloak. Her blond hair was messed and dirty, reaching to her mid back. He could tell she'd been riding for days. Probably even weeks. She looked tired, weak, and hungry.

"He can't be a knight or a nobleman. He is the last of his name. If anyone found who he is, some would want to kill him. So please. I beg you to take him into your care and make him a witcher." Kaela begged again.

The old witcher sighed before looking to his men. They were all looking to him. Waiting for his decision since he was more or less their leader. They had a few women that would be capable of tending to a child in their fortress until he came of age for the trials. With a long sigh and the woman waiting, he spoke.

"Very well. We will take your son." he told her.

Kaela smiled thankfully and rose to her feet.

"Thank you." she praised.

"What is his name?" the witcher asked as he looked back down to the child in his arms.

"Joran."

"Who was his father?"

After a long conversation that left the witcher's shocked and off guard, the noblewoman left. She couldn't stay with her son. It was too dangerous. Especially because who would be after both of them if they knew she had survived her house being slaughtered. She knew Joran would avenge them one day. Especially since he would become a deadly killer under the witcher's of Kaer Morhen. Sadly, only a month after she had left her son, Kaela died in a ship that wrecked and was swallowed by the Narrow Sea.

**274 AC**

The violent and agony filled screams of a young boy could be heard as the old witcher waited in another room. The entire area could hear how in pain he was as his body mutated. He was patiently waiting in the alchemy room. Potions, oils, and decoctions lined the walls on shelves around him. Another man rushed into the room. His hair was black and tied at the back of his head and he matched the other man's height as he stomped toward him.

"Rylen, this is wrong!" he exclaimed as his cat eyes glared into the other witcher's.

Rylen sighed tiredly as he turned. The old witcher leaned against a desk that sat in the middle of the room, covered in diagrams and books with a few glass flasks here and there.

"You think I enjoy putting him through pain, Barret? We all raised him." Rylen responded.

"Of course not, but you should have just inhibited the traditional trial instead of trying this new concoction!" Barret yelled.

"Carn assured us that it would work!" Rylen raised his voice in return as he regarded their fellow witcher, who was an expert in alchemy.

They had subjected Joran to a new method of creating witchers. One that they believed would make him stronger than normal witchers. Even capable of increasing his longevity compared to that of his peers and make his senses sharper. Then again, this was just an experiment to see if it would work. If it didn't, the poor lad would die. The screams continued to pierce the silence as both witcher's waited patiently.

"If this works, he'll be the best we have. Unless we put more through it." Barret said softly.

Rylen shook his head.

"Whether he survives or not, I don't want to put anymore through this. That is, if we ever have more apprentices. Not many young boys aspire to be like us." the older man said.

Barret nodded with understanding. The number of witcher's was never going to be large. There were only a hundred of them in Kaer Morhen and less in the other schools. Except for the ones in the south. There were always plenty of orphans or they could use the old choosing rule. The latter was frowned upon, however. To the school of the wolf and bear, anyway.

"I just don't like it, Rylen."

Barret received a pat on the shoulder.

"Neither do I, my friend."

**283** **AC**

The long road after his trials was nowhere near easy for Joran. He was trained until his bones cracked, knuckles bled, and head hurt from months of reading. The witcher's made it their occupation to craft him into a killer. Along with the ten other apprentices that survived with him. He excelled with the sword, showed much promise in alchemy, and his technique with signs was flawless. He killed his first monster at fifteen. A ghoul. Earned a few scars along the way as he went on to kill more. Then, the war came. The witcher's had planned on avoiding the conflict all together. Until Kaer Morhen received a scroll sent by raven. With the Targaryen seal waxed onto it. The scroll simply and eloquently said '_Come to King's Landing and bend the knee to the true king or die screaming as you burn next to __all other traitors of the realm_'. The house of the Bear stood behind the Wolf as they revolted with the northern lords. The Griffin school stood with them as well. Not just because they were stationed in the Vale, but also because the three schools were like brothers. The Vipers started as loyalists, but the leader of the school's second killed him and declared the Viper school for the rebellion. The Cat and Crane schools were a different story. Joran had killed many a witcher from both. The Crane school ended up completely destroyed and the Cat school disbanded. Now, the Wolves, Bears, and Griffins rode with the north men into the heart of the capitol. The Vipers were back home in Dorne, helping the Dornish repair their country.

Joran was a man now. He stood at a still growing six feet. His dark brown hair was long and reached his shoulders with a slight beard and mustache as he wore the common warrior's leather jacket with chainmail and other witcher gear. His silver sword was on his back and his steel one at his left hip with a crossbow on his right. The now nineteen year old witcher was enraged as he rode next to Lord Eddard Stark. There was blood everywhere. Dead men, women, and children littered the streets of King's Landing as the crimson banner of house Lannister hung over the Red Keep. Joran hated Lannister's more than anything in this world. Not just because they were prick's and whoreson's, but also because he had personal reason's for hating them. Reason's that left him thirsting for retribution and vengeance, but he would deal with that one day. Rylen looked on in disdain and disgust as well as the northern armies marched behind them. They rode all the way to their destination unchallenged as Lannister men pillaged and plundered all around them. Some stopped to smirk and cheer as the blood of innocent's covered their swords and armor. Lord Eddard was quick to leave his horse before storming into the throne room. Joran was quick to follow. Once the two men made it, they were met with the sight of a smirking Jaime Lannister. His sword was coated in blood and a dead Mad King was on the floor in front of him as he sat in the iron throne. Aerys' blood stained the floor and Jaime's gold armor, his wide open eyes looking crazed even in death.

"Ah, Lord Stark. Come, come. I did you the favor of killing the crazy bastard." Jaime said as they got closer.

Eddard was slow to speak, but he did eventually after collecting himself.

"Where is your father, Lannister? Why are his men killing civilians?" he demanded.

"Does it really matter?" Jaime returned.

Joran reached for his sword as he stepped forward, but the lord stopped him. His glare lessened in intensity as his yellow eyes met the gray ones of Eddard as he shook his head slowly. The Stark knew the young monster slayer could kill him with a simple wave of his hand, but that would only create problems. Joran slowly backed down as Eddard stepped forward.

"It is murder. That is why it matters." Lord Stark said angrily.

Jaime chuckled softly as his hand fidgeted with the pommel of his sword.

"They were our enemies. Supported the Mad King." he simply said with indifference.

Joran had hoped the newly crowned King Robert would detest the young Lannister after Eddard Stark talked to him, but the witcher was disappointed when the exact opposite happened. The war ended with Robert on the throne, Jon Arryn as his hand, and Jaime as one of his king's guard. The new king didn't even care innocent people were murdered. Only that Targaryen's were dead. Including Elia Martell. He didn't care the Dornish princess was raped and murdered before her two innocent children followed her in death, wrapped in Lannister colors. It would bring Joran an immense amount of pleasure to shove a sword down Tywin's throat, but the witcher couldn't have everything he wanted. As for he and the rest of his school, they went back North to recover. The war had taken fifty good men away from them, leaving only sixty. Their ally school's were no better off. Joran had survived the war, but the price was more scars, especially the one across his face from left eyebrow to right cheek. He'd gained a reputation thanks to the war. Men who didn't scorn him and spit upon the ground he walked would buy him drinks. 'The Black Wolf' was the name he'd been given. After he'd made it home, Joran had hoped that was the last war he would see. Little did Joran know, the fighting was nowhere near over for him.

**289 AC**

Joran was on a job to kill a griffin when the Greyjoy's went into open rebellion against the kingdoms. They were nothing but raiders who believed they could have anything they wanted. That's what Joran believed, anyway. He had no respect for those chest pounding bastards. And he didn't want to be a part of this war, but it was Lord Stark that approached him about it. Had it been anyone else, Joran would have most likely told them to 'sod off' and not have even considered listening to what they had to say. There were few people that were his friends and even fewer that he held in any high regard as he did Eddard Stark. There was also the fact the older man owed his life to the witcher. It was that fateful day at the Trident. A stupid Tyrell soldier thought he could get a lucky stab at Eddard's back, but failed to notice the deadly killer that was fighting only a few feet from the lord. The poor idiot only lasted a second before the already blood soaked slayer lopped off his head. That was when the friendship between the lord and he started. After the war, the Stark's always called on him for help with a monster related issue. It was one of the things Joran loved about the north. The Stark's were always hospitable and the people in the northern kingdom didn't treat him like an abomination. They were more appreciative to monster slayers than anyone. Especially since their kingdom had the more deadly beasts. Usually. So, after the village elder had handed him the scroll bearing a direwolf seal and asking for an audience, Joran rode for Winterfell.

Now, even after their history, Joran was considering not going to fight a war he cared nothing about until the lord informed him of the events that started the rebellion. A fleet lead by a cat eyed warrior with a cat medallion around his neck. The school of the cat was disbanded, but it was not only because they fought for the Mad King. It was also because they had started performing assassin contracts more than anything. Eventually they stopped taking monster contracts and fully dedicated themselves to becoming perfect assassin's, whether they be human, dwarf, or elf. Together, the other school's condemned them. Sadly, there were still rogue cat school witcher's that took contract's. Joran knew that Robert and his kingdom's could win the war, but the Greyjoy's having a witcher on their side was troublesome. If given the chance, he could kill Robert or even Eddard. So, here he was, on a boat headed for Pyke. King Robert and Tywin Lannister had laid siege on the island and were waiting for the last of the Greyjoy fleet to attack. Meanwhile, the northern fleet were on their way around the back to hit the Greyjoy ships when they showed up. Joran could do nothing but wait as he watched the sun rising, looking as if it were coming from the water as it lit the sky aflame. The cool air from the sea brushed his face softly and the wind made the direwolf embroidered sails billow, pushing the ship forward. Joran knew they could take the Greyjoy's. It was the sea monster's that he knew would be an issue.

They'd not seen a single siren, mermaid, drowner, or water hag. Contrary to popular belief, mermaids were beautiful, but they wouldn't take a man down to the depths and fuck him after giving him the ability to breath under water. It was more like she drags him down to the bottom after seducing him and then rip his throat out. They were much like sirens, but the only difference was that mermaids could not fly or sing. Joran wasn't complaining though. He appreciated silence. Especially since his senses were always intense. His hearing and smell sometimes annoyed the seven hell's out of him. The witcher was even more of a man now. He stood at six feet and six inches. He'd become broader and stronger. His armor and swords went from the typical witcher gear to the lost ursine armor, swords, and crossbow. Joran had somehow managed to find all the diagrams for them in an old abandoned and destroyed manor while tracking a troll. The weapons were where he always had them. Silver sword on his back, crossbow and steel sword on his hips. His hair was still long and tied behind his head. A little sloppily, but he didn't care. He had a beard and mustache, but they weren't unkempt. His cat eyes were staring down at the depths below, concentrating and seeing no sign's of monsters. Joran sighed as he leaned against the hardwood railing. Dozens of men were with him on the deck as they waited eagerly to see any sign of a Greyjoy sail as the captain sailed them in the right direction as he manned the helm and the boat rocked side to side.

They were all wearing the familiar Stark armor. Thick leather with some light sheets of steel added here and there. Some had the direwolf on their armor around their neck and collar. After a good few moments of thought, Joran heard the footsteps approach before the man leaned on the wood next to him. The witcher turned to see Ned Stark. His gray eyes screamed that he would rather be anywhere else at the moment instead of fighting another war. Joran was no different, but he was used to the lifestyle a long time ago. He was a witcher. They didn't die of natural causes. If it wasn't a war or a scorned sorceress, it was a monster. Joran smiled softly at the older man and he returned it before both looked back off into the sunrise.

"No monster's?" Ned asked softly, his voice deep.

Joran shook his head.

"Not one." he answered.

Eddard chuckled softly as a thought occurred to him.

"Maybe they're busy takin' care of the Greyjoy fleet for us."

The witcher chuckled too.

"Let us hope so." Joran responded.

There was a short pause.

"You think we'll run into the other witcher?" Ned asked.

Then there was that. During the past months, the wolf had yet to face the cat. Joran had only found the aftermath of his fleet destroying other ships and leaving few nearly drowned or eaten survivors to tell about it.

"The king has Pyke in his grasp and needs yet to close his fist. I have no doubt we'll run into him. And when we do, I'll kill him." Joran told him, the witcher's tone holding some venom.

Eddard nodded in understanding before speaking again.

"You speak as though he is a man without honor." the lord pointed out.

Joran turned back to him, his face emotionless, as it usually was.

"Because he doesn't. The school of the Cat fought for the mad king. They murdered, pillaged, and raped on his orders. Aery's would've had them tear the country apart, had we not stopped them along with the school of the crane. Especially since the cat school got into the habit of hunting people over monsters." the witcher explained as he turned to lean his back against the railing with his arms crossed.

Ned hummed, "And the school of the Crane? What of their fate?"

Joran remembered that bloody day as if it were happening before his eyes.

"We had to put them to the sword. It was death before surrender to them." he explained.

The honorable Eddard Stark did not question his friend. The lord understood times when it was necessary to take a man's head. After all, he had wielded the sword that executed many a few deserters, thieves, poachers, murderers, and rapers.

"At least they died fighting. Like true witcher's. None of us enjoyed killing them." Joran added with regret, "It was a terrible waste. Our number's weakened greatly that day. All because we found ourselves on different sides of a war. That is one reason why us witcher's try to avoid conflict's."

"Yet, here you are." Ned responded.

Joran chuckled again.

"Only because you asked and King Robert offered me quite the large purse of gold. Which I'm sure the cunt, Tywin Lannister, will be the one providing me with." he said.

Ned looked at him curiously.

"Why do you hate Lannister's so much? Sure, we all have our own reason's, but you seem very spiteful and vengeful when their name come's up." the lord noticed.

Joran looked back at Eddard seriously, his mother and father's face's appearing in his mind. A smiling man whose face almost mirrored his own. His beautiful mother. Then, there was who they were and what the Lannister's had done to them. Joran looked back out over the other side of the boat and along the ocean again.

"I'll tell you one day, Ned. Not today." Joran responded.

Eddard sighed and decided it would be best not to pry. After all, he had some secrets of his own he refused to share with other's. The lord was about to offer his apologies, but then the quartermaster started hollering.

"Sail's, my lord! Greyjoy colors!" he exclaimed.

More yelling was heard as the Stark men warned the other ships behind and at their side's. Joran became ready and alert as he looked to see said sail's emerging from around one of the small islands. He and Ned waited, expecting to see the last of the large Greyjoy fleet. Imagine their surprise as they managed to fully see only five ships. They were in a sorry state. Joran could see the sail's were torn and there were more than a few claw mark's and holes in their hull's.

"Look's like you were right, Ned." Joran said as a matter of fact, "Monster's went after them instead."

Joran would've laughed if not for the Greyjoy ship headed straight for them. He could hear the battle cries as they got closer to their ship.

"Prepare for battle!" Eddard yelled as he drew his sword.

Joran did the same as he waited. The witcher was confused to notice that the assassin was nowhere to be seen as the ships formed a line as they headed for the Stark fleet. There was no time to think about that. They had enemies to kill. Joran was quick to use quen, throwing a golden shield over himself as the ships collided. The boat shook hard, throwing a few men off their feet and some into the water. Joran used aard, making a strong burst of air leave his outstretched hand and send a few attacking Greyjoy's into the cold water. They wouldn't survive the swim, thanks to their armor weighing them down. With Ned at his back, Joran fought and struck down every enemy that came his way. More and more blood got on both his armor and sword as he fought, slowly making his way onto the enemy ship. Joran used igni this time, burning another five enemies alive. The smell was foul, but he was used to it. Three screamed as they burned and jumped off the boat while the other two that took the brunt died instantly. Joran moved forward as the last of the crew just stood there with terrified faces. As if they were looking at a demon.

Joran realized he didn't even need to use quen. None of these men were even able to touch him. The witcher was quick to dispatch the rest of them with the help of a few Stark soldier's. Once they'd claimed the ship, Joran looked to his side's to see that the rest of Ned's army was having a successful fight as well. They had lost a few men, but they were repaid with ten dead enemies each. The ocean battle was over within minutes. As the moderately damaged Stark fleet turned to Pyke so they could join the rest of Robert's forces, they left burning ship's in their wake.

* * *

Joran was still reasonably coated in blood as he helped Stark's, Baratheon's, Lannister's, and many more pound at the huge doors that stood between them and the Greyjoy's. The witcher sent a quick glare at a smirking Jaime Lannister, who was standing safely away from the battle with his father. Robert Baratheon was there as well, but that was because he was king. Robert stood there with his faithful war hammer as he wore the gold armor of his house. He had gained some weight in his time as king, but the man was still large and strong. The witcher did not need to focus on that at the moment. He noticed someone grab the ram next to him after dodging a few arrows. There was Jorah Mormont. He was as big as the witcher was as he wore black armor with a silver bear across the breastplate. The man's light brown hair was short and his face clean shaved as he dropped his large shield. He had almost as much blood on him as the monster slayer. To be expected after cutting down a few dozen men that tried to defend the outer wall. Arrows still rained down on their shields and they kept battering away.

"HEAVE! HO!" a Baratheon roared as the doors cracked and shook more each time.

"You look like you've seen hell, witcher." Jorah said lowly.

Joran chuckled to the heir of Bear Island.

"As do you, my lord." he responded.

The older man chuckled as well before they pulled with all their strength with the men and pounded the doors one last time. With a sigh of relief, Joran watched the battering ram make a huge hole in the doors.

"WE'VE BROKEN THROUGH!" one man exclaimed.

The witcher and lord beside him made to run in to engage the waiting enemy, when they saw it. Thoros of Myr. The crazy fucker was running through the breach, a flaming sword in hand as he screamed like he had gone mad. Joran looked over to Jorah and were silent as they shrugged before drawing their sword's and following the crazed man in. Their allies screamed battle cries as they followed. Joran charged forward as quen glowed strong around him. A few arrows bounced harmlessly off of him, weakening his sign by mere fractions as he and the other soldier's met the Greyjoy's in their courtyard. Bodies and swords collided violently as blood was shed and men screamed. The smell of death invaded his nostril's again as he killed enemy after enemy. Joran became caked in even more blood. The witcher settled into a pattern of slash, deflect, stab. None were able to stand before his blade. Until he found it locked with another of similar make. Joran glared and put pressure on his sword, being met with as much as he was giving. Cat eyes just like his own glared back. Joran recognized him instantly. Rodrik Greyjoy. The man's hair was short and he was almost as big and broad as Joran. He wore the feline gear and only carried the cat sword he was currently using. The soldier's around them quieted and slowly began to back away as witcher stood off against witcher. Quen glowed around the heir of Pyke as their sword's stayed locked and they still glared.

"What's a rabid wolf doing in my home?" Rodrik simply asked in a strained and gravelly voice.

"What's a Greyjoy doing being a witcher? We can't have children." Joran returned.

The two armies watched as Rodrik pulled away to slash at Joran. The Wolf dodged and returned a strike of his own, managing to weaken his opponent's sign, but not enough to dissolve it. They circled one another, the border around them becoming wider. They suddenly rushed one another. Joran noticed something instantly as Rodric sidestepped and managed to weaken his quen in return with a quick stab. His enemy was not to be taken lightly. Joran needed to focus solely on him. Rodric threw igni at him. Joran just barely managed to dodge, making the fire go straight into a few surprised Greyjoy's. They died screaming as the fight went on between the two killer's. The armies didn't even care as they watched the spectacle. Joran retorted with a blast of aard. The cat was pushed back, but he slid on his feet as he managed to catch himself by planting his sword into the ground. Rodric growled ashe rushed at Joran again. Their sword's hit hard, making a loud 'CLANG' as spark's flew. Joran breathed with effort as some sweat went down his blood splattered face. Meanwhile, Rodric was barely looking winded as he glared at the wolf. Joran knew what he needed to do. The Cat was going to be a hard fucker to kill, but Joran knew it was possible. As fast as he could as they rushed one another again, Joran went to his knees and ducked under Rodric's sword and slid as he swung his blade. Rodric's quen exploded violently, sending Joran sliding a few feet before stopping himself. Rodric glared and took a dagger from his belt before lobbing it at the other witcher.

Joran caught it before throwing it back with blinding speed. Rodric's eyes widened as he attempted to use quen again, but the dagger embedded deep into his left shoulder. The Cat groaned in pain and ripped the blade out quickly before throwing quen up again.

"I'm gonna enjoy killing you!" Rodric exclaimed as he attacked again.

"Yeah, fuck you too!" Joran responded as he blocked.

The Wolf parried and pushed Rodric's sword to the side before surging his guard forward and into his enemy's head. The gold shield was weakened greatly and Joran took this opening to finish it off. Joran was pushed again, but he jammed his sword into the ground to keep his footing before he surged forward and hit Rodric's sword from his grasp. The weapon skidded along the stone ground as Joran slashed Rodric's right knee open, making the man yell in pain as he was forced to kneel. The Wolf held his blade against the Cat's throat as he panted and slowly spoke.

"If you have any last word's, now's the time."

Rodric glared up defiantly at him as Joran saw his arm tense.

"Go to hell!" Rodric yelled as he cast igni.

Joran dodged to the side before swinging his blade in a strong sideways arch. Right on Rodric's throat. The Greyjoy heir's head rolled onto the ground as a fountain of blood sprayed from his opened neck. His body fell limp as the sign instantly died. Joran's breathe slowly steadied as he looked down at his fallen opponent. Slowly, the witcher scanned his 'audience'. King Robert was next to Eddard and Tywin wasn't far away with Jaime at his side. Joran looked to the enemy side. The self proclaimed king, Balon Greyjoy, was watching with horror. The witcher glared as he sheathed his sword and slowly strode toward the Greyjoy. The older man looked back at him as the witcher sized him up. He was trying to hide his fear as Joran gripped the handle of his sword. Balon was about to struggle and object, but he found a hard gloved fist jammed into his jaw, breaking it. As Balon fell to the ground from the blow, Joran pulled his sword from him. The witcher turned to Robert and slowly walked to him. The king's mouth was slightly agape as he looked back with wide eyes. Joran dropped the sword at his feet before making his way past him. As the witcher made it out of the keep, he heard cheers and shouts of victory. He had won them the war. Now, he was going to go find an inn to rest in, a tub to bathe in, and a willing woman to spend the night with.


	2. Chapter 2

**298 AC**

To the witcher, the South was the ass end of Westeros. And not a pretty lady's ass at that. No. It was more like a wrinkly, stinking, sagging, old man's. With King's Landing being a large, festering, ugly, mole. Joran hated it with a passion. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of work there. Always, more and more monster's arose to cause havoc. A dead village here, trader's torn apart along the road there. The usual. However, the shortage laid in the fact that strong and challenging monster's were few in these parts. Yes, there were swamps and a few other perilous types of terrain where strong one's still lingered, but still. Not to mention how much Joran hated the specific location he was currently headed as the dead corpse of a Leshy made a stench behind him as his horse pulled it by the cart it rested in. One of it's long limb's was hanging out and slightly swinging to and fro as the cart rattled from the road. His horse grunted with effort, not only pulling the fallen beast, but also carrying an armored witcher, weapon's, and a dozen supplies. It certainly did not help the animal that his rider was wearing master-crafted ursine armor. It was made tough and strong. Thick leather, steel plates, and chainmail. Joran still had the steel Cat sword he acquired years ago and his silver sword had progressed to the master-crafted ursine witcher blade. There were also Dazhbog, Triglav, and Devana runestone's embedded in the guard to inflict considerable damage on anything the blade gave so much as a nick.

Then again, though he was very well protected, the heavy armor was also as hot as hell. The witcher was not sweating as badly as you'd expect, but there were still multiple drops running down his face and down his scarred body under the armor. Then, there was the stench on him because of some monster blood he had gotten on himself. It all annoyed him, increasing his already sour mood as he finally saw it. Casterly Rock. It's not that he hated EVERYONE that lived within it's walls. He only hated the family that ruled it. And the utter shite's that served them and thought they were invincible because of it. The sooner he collected what he was owed from Tywin Lannister, the better. The bastard Lord had sent a notice out that explained logger's were being slaughtered by a monster where The Rock collected their wood. The dead Leshy was the culprit of over a dozen dead men and Lannister soldier's that guarded them. Tywin put a price of a thousand Gold Dragon's on the monster's head. If the reward wasn't so good, Joran would have let another witcher deal with it. If only he was not in the area of the notice board as well. Sadly, it just was not his day. As he rode closer and closer, the witcher encountered more and more people. They were either arriving or leaving as they poured in and out. They were merchant's, farmer's, fishermen, hunter's, soldier's, etc just going by their day. Of course most paused to stare at the monster killer. Some held no ill in their eyes, but other's sneered and spit in his general direction. Meanwhile, a few soldier's he passed gripped their sword handles. Joran was deadly, but he was not stupid. Sure, he would love to sack The Rock, but to do that, he would need an army. It would also require revealing who he was. Who his father was and why he was murdered. Joran could not do that yet. Like the Lannister's, he would wait for his chance. And when the time came, Joran would take great pleasure in watching the light leave Tywin's eyes. Shortly before taking his time in killing Jaime. Then Cersei.

The witcher could not deny that Casterly Rock had at least some charm to it as his horse carried him across the stone bridge that connected the castle to the land and small city. The way it looked with the vast ocean behind it was quite beautiful. Along with the city that laid before it. If only the air didn't smell like shit, sweat, and multiple other thing's he really did not need invading his nose. This is why he usually hated cities. He preferred villages surrounded by forest. Maybe a lake, stream, or waterfall nearby. That wasn't even mentioning how much better Casterly Rock would be if the Lannister's did not inhabit it. Slowly, Joran drew in a long breathe and let it out as he closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to put on his stone-faced, cold, emotionless facade for this. He could not take rage into this place. A guard calling out took him from his thoughts.

"Oi! Be gone, vagabond! Your kind is not welcome here!"

There were two young men standing guard outside the wall's of the castle. A dozen other's were managing a line that stretched from the portcullis and entrance. Searching through cart's and belonging's and doing a great job in harassing people. Joran almost rolled his eyes as he focused back on the two currently pointing their spears at him. One was a little on the pudgy side and smelled of alcohol. Joran could not see his face because his helm was closed, but he could see sideburns and a beard that ran down and over his chin and slight second chin. The boy had to be no older than twenty years and stood at around five and a half feet. The other was tall, broad, skinny, and had a clean shaven face. He wore his helm open so Joran was able to see his pale, freckled, face and blue eyes. This was the one that had spoken to him. Joran simply reached into one of his side pocket's and showed the job request.

"I have business with Lord Tywin." Joran spoke calmly.

"What business?"

Joran rolled the parchment back up and tossed it to the guard. The idiot boy struggled to catch it before he unrolled and read it. His eyes scanned the paper and his comrade leaned over his shoulder. It was a minute before the guard looked back up at the monster killer, his face marred with slight surprise.

"Who are you, witcher?" the fat one asked.

He narrowed his cat eyes at them and slowly stepped down from his mount before stepping closer. He towered over them, making their holds on their weapon's tighten. The witcher wanted to smirk as he detected the slight smell of piss.

"I am Joran. And I am here to collect what I am owed." he answered slowly.

The one that had the request in his hand gulped before backing away a little.

"Very well. Follow me. Thom, stay here." he commanded.

The fat one nodded a little too vigorously as he stayed glued to the castle entrance.

"Bring the dead monster, witcher. We have a sorceress that could find some use for it." the guard said as Joran pulled his horse with by the reins.

Joran sighed. He knew all too well about the Lannister's sorceress. She'd had tried to cast spell's on him multiple times. Of the sexual kind. She was beautiful, but Joran was not a fool. He knew better than to partake with witches. Usually. The cart rattled more until Joran was directed to leave it with his horse in the middle of the courtyard. There were guards and servants everywhere and doing multiple tasks as they made towards the large steps that lead inside. The sun hung high, making plenty of light, not that he needed it. The witcher was hoping the witch would just take the kart and be gone before he came back, but-

"Well, well, well. Look what the breeze blew in. Joran, the mighty witcher." the guard stopped and bowed to the woman as she stood in the entrance, next to one of the huge oak doors.

"My lady." he said.

"I will take it from here, Blane. You are dismissed." she said with her smooth a sultry voice.

The scent of urine left with Blane as Joran looked to her. She was unaged since he saw her last of course. Looking to be a woman of only twenty and ten, she was of average height at five feet and nine inches. There was nothing average about her features, however. Blond hair like threaded gold that brilliantly framed a pale face with emerald eyes and full lips. She had a slender neck with a gold and ruby jeweled necklace wrapped around her collar and rested above her large breasts. Her slim waist had a crimson sash wrapped around it over the gold noble woman's dress she wore. Which also managed to conceal her shapely rear end and legs with the long skirt it had. If they were in King's Landing, she could've been mistaken for the queen. Almost. There was a reason Tywin picked her as his mage. She was once a peasant from Lannisport many decades ago, but The Brotherhood did well in training her when she showed magical talent and potential. From the stories he had heard, her magic was discovered when a drunkard tried to rape her. It only took a scream to make his head explode. She was powerful.

"Alara." Joran simply greeted.

The sorceress folded her arms in front of her and laced her fingers as she smiled mischievously, showing off her pearly white teeth. They slowly walked inside, being met with dozens of paintings, tapestries, sets of armor, weapons, and maps that lined the halls.

"Lord Lannister is this way." Alara said softly, leading him toward what he assumed was the great hall, "So, how long shall you be staying, Joran?"

"I will rest in one of the inn's for the night. I will leave at first light." was the curt response.

"Oh, come now, Joran. Would you not rather spend the night in my company? It is boring here at court and none of the men here seem as entertaining as you." Alara requested with a pout.

She stopped him in the middle of the hall and gave him an enticing look. Joran just noticed that the neckline, or rather the collar line, of her dress had become lower a she stepped closer. She smelled of fresh strawberries.

"I'm sure there are so many tales you can tell me of your travels." she tried to convince, even adding charm to her voice.

The spell might as well have been a needle of straw hitting a shield. In his training, Joran made sure to be as steel willed and immune to influence spells as possible. So, he smirked back at her as his wolf medallion trembled against his chest in alarm.

"Valiant effort." he said lowly.

The sorceress sighed and just continued to pout at him.

"Why can't you be any fun, Joran?"

The witcher didn't answer, just walked the rest of the way. Being met with a massive hall with stain-glass windows depicting many Lannister victories. The biggest window was at the end, where Tywin Lannister currently sat alone among dozens of large polished oak tables. He sat in a chair fit for a king. Gold painted wood with a few jewels here and there. The window behind him caught Joran's attention. A gold lion fighting a winning battle against a red lion. The gold had the red one's throat in it's jaws and the red one was frozen in an eternal scream of pain. After taking the area in, his usual instincts and reflexes took hold. Running down how to survive from anything that might happen. The ten soldiers keeping watch, how he would escape the area, where he would retreat to, etc. It was a blessing and a curse sometimes because this always happened wherever he went. Joran looked back at the Lannister as Alara made his introduction.

"My Lord-" she was cut off as Joran stopped ten paces in front of him.

"I know this witcher very well, Alara. Thank you, you are dismissed." Tywin spoke lowly, giving a simple wave of his hand.

He was old. His hair was slowly fading from blond to white and there was a clear crown where the line was receding. His face was wrinkled and he sported some minor facial hair that was also white. Probably hadn't used a sword in a decade. He was also wearing a black leather tunic with a red sash that went from his left shoulder to his right hip. Alara reluctantly took her leave, bowing lowly as the lord's dull green eyes met Joran's cat ones. It was a minute before Tywin spoke.

"Witcher. You've barely aged since I saw you last." he stated.

It was true. The only thing different about Joran since the battle of Pyke was that he was bigger, broader. There was also a slight brown beard across his chin and his brown hair had become a little darker since he allowed it to be a little longer, still draped around his shoulders and tied well at the back of his head. Joran kept his stone expression as he responded.

"Yes, Lord Tywin. It's been a long time since Pyke. And of course, us witchers are given longevity because of our mutations."

Tywin gave a hum and reached for the goblet of wine that sat on the table in front of him before taking a small sip. Joran could smell it. Arbor Gold. After setting it back on the table, Tywin continued.

"That intrigues me about your kind. Tell me, is it true what they say? Witcher's have no feelings or emotions?" he inquired.

"Yes, my lord." it stung so much to have to call the overgrown cunt that.

"Your mutation's strip you of them, yes?"

"They do." Joran answered.

Tywin hummed again as he grabbed a purse of what Joran assumed was his reward closer to him. After this, he would make sure to count it. Tywin looked back to him with a soft smile.

"And what of your name?"

"My lord?" Joran asked.

"I only know you by your first name, witcher. What of your last name? Who was your family?" Tywin simplified.

Joran hummed, resisting the urge to glare and pull his sword before gutting the old man like a boar. There was a small pause before he answered.

"I did not know my family, my lord. I was a baby when I was given to the School of the Wolf. They did not know who my mother was. They assumed she was a peasant or a whore that didn't want a child. If you must, Lord Tywin, you could simply call me 'Joran Snow'." he lied.

The witcher may as well have been taking a dagger to his own heart. He was pissing on the grave's of his entire family with that story, but he would get over it. They would have their retribution. One day. Meanwhile, Tywin nodded with acceptance.

"Did the monster prove to be a challenge?"

Joran nodded, "It was not an easy fight, my lord. Leshen's are tough and powerful beasts, but I was able to dispatch it without injury. Your men accidentally entered it's territory. They're very territorial being's, so of course and as you know, it killed them all."

Tywin nodded in acceptance before his expression straightened.

"I wish I had men like you in my military, witcher. Yet, what I am left with is incompetence. At least they are effective at times. Prove useful." Tywin said as he tossed the purse, "At least I have Sir Gregor."

Joran caught it in his right hand without effort and strapped it to his hip tightly. He wanted to scoff. It were as if the old man was offering a job to be a soldier for him. Joran could only think of a few things that disgusted him more.

"You should find the promised amount in that purse, witcher. You may leave." Tywin dismissed.

Joran nodded and almost breathed a sigh of relief as he turned and left. On his way out, Alara appeared back at his side. She still had that mischievous smile on her as they walked back to the doors.

"You sure you don't want to spend at least a little time with me, Joran? Maybe have some tea or wine? I have a barrel of Arbor Gold." she offered once more, trying to sweeten it.

"An enticing offer, but I will have to say no. Are you going to take the leshy off my hands?" Joran responded.

The beautiful sorceress sighed and it was at this moment that Joran noticed the collar of her dress had been lowered, showing off more of her lovely bust. She took on an air of slight annoyance as she seemingly gave up on 'wooing' him for now.

"Always to business with you. Yes, witcher. I shall be taking it off your hands."

They were finally back in the courtyard and he mounted his horse again as he nodded to her in thanks as Alara unhitched the kart with only a wave of her hand.

"Thank you." he simply said, giving his horse a light kick to get him moving.

He received a low huff from the animal as it trotted forward towards the bridge and town beyond it.

"Hope to see you again soon, Joran." Alara called after him.

He only gave her a 'Hmm' in response.

* * *

After leaving his horse in a stable an making sure he wouldn't be fooled with, Joran slowly walked into the tavern part of the inn. He could hear and smell everything outside, but it all intensified as he opened the door. There was a bard singing and strumming on his lute and the smell of sweat, perfume, and food all wafted in the air together in a strange mix. There were peasant's, guard's, and a few whore's scattered all over either enjoying a meal and conversation or conducting 'business'. Joran rolled his eyes as half the tavern joined the troubadour in singing.

"And so he spoke! And so he spoke! Did Lord Castamere! And now the Reyne's weep for his hall's with no one there to hear!"

"Bunch of chest pounding prick's." he said to himself as they continued the chorus.

Joran stopped at the counter and the woman running it looked at him with slight fear, putting down the mug she was cleaning. She was middle aged and wearing the usual tavern maid's blue and red dress that stopped just above her boot covered feet. Her long and graying hair was tied behind her head as her brown eyes tried to not stare into his.

"What can I do for you, Witcher?" she asked softly.

Joran sighed softly, but he was used to this kind of behavior from most women. He was surprised whores went anywhere near him, but witcher's had somehow gotten a reputation for being talented lover's. It also helped that they were infertile. Speaking of which, the working women that were sitting in potential client's laps settled their eyes on the monster killer. Joran put the coin he would need on the counter in front of the woman.

"I wouldn't mind something to eat and a room where I can rest the night." Joran requested softly and kindly, trying not to intimidate the poor woman anymore than she already was.

It seemed to work a little as she took the coin and managed to look him in the face. She handed him a key before speaking again.

"Will you just be staying for tonight?"

Joran nodded, "Yes. Now, what do you have to eat today?"

She cleared her throat and gestured behind her to the kitchen.

"Well, we managed to get a few strings of fish, braces of rabbits, and there's a wild boar currently cooking with some potatoes and carrots." was her answer.

Joran hummed as he thought it over.

"I'll take a rabbit. What kind of fish?" he requested.

"Well, there's some trout left and sea bass." she responded.

"I'll take a trout. Any ale left?"

She nodded and presented him a pint mug after pouring the alcohol from a large cask. Joran nodded in thanks and took a sip.

"I'll have your food in a moment."

She walked to the back with a fresh wooden plate and he waited. He noticed that the music had stopped and the tavern had gotten eerily quiet. Joran sighed and set down his mug as the sound of multiple footsteps converged to a few feet behind him. The witcher wondered how long it would take the crowd to notice his presence.

"What's a man need two sword's for?" a man asked.

Joran just leaned with his elbow against the counter and took another sip.

"C'mon, lad's. Leave the man alone. Who care's." an older man's voice called to the group of slightly drunk men.

His word's were ignored sadly.

"Oi! I'm talkin' to you!" the same man exclaimed.

Joran didn't even need to look to know there were ten of them. He had already narrowed down how he would kill them all if it came to that as he turned. Fortunately, the coward's all took a surprised step back as they saw his eyes and medallion.

"I'm a witcher. It's my job to carry two sword's. One for monster's, the other for human's. Would you like a demonstration?" Joran answered lowly and threateningly.

The soldier that appeared to be the leader called the rest of the men off.

"Get away from him. Kill us all in the blink of an eye, he could. Wouldn't lose any sleep over it either."

One soldier was not so smart, however. He was a green boy. Probably barely eight and ten years of age with brown hair and pale complexion. He stood at probably six feet, but Joran was still a giant compared to him. His blue eyes bore into Joran's as he stepped closer.

"Ronin, don't." the leader warned.

"I can take the freak." Ronin responded.

"Maybe if I was blind, deaf, and had my hands tied behind-" Joran paused himself before continuing, "Actually. Nope. Not even then."

This insult made more than a few patron's laugh, serving to enrage the young prick that was stupid enough to challenge a professional monster killer that could use magic. Ronin was about to move closer, but Joran slowly moved his hand in the axii sign, making the boy suddenly sway back and forth as his eyes became glazed.

"Be smart boy. Apologize and be on your way home before I kill you." Joran commanded, terrifying the other men.

"Y-Yes…..So sorry, sir…...Didn't mean to offend…...I'll go home now…...G'night…." Ronin responded groggily.

"There's a good lad." Joran said as he turned and stumbled out of the tavern.

The other men went back to their seats and the bard continued, softly strumming a jig on his lute. Most in the area were still nervous however. Which was not exactly a bad thing. Better nervous and scared of him rather than angry and getting killed because they decided to attack him. Joran turned back to the tavern maid as she slowly set his meal in front of him. She gave him a thankful look, which surprised the witcher a little.

"Thank you for not ending that with violence, witcher, sir." she said.

Joran only nodded before taking his meal, getting a refill, and picking a secluded corner to eat in after setting his sword's and crossbow next to him. Surprisingly, all thousand Gold Dragon's he was owed were in the purse Tywin gave him. Joran did his best to relax as he ate, until the door's opened again. That scent hit his nostrils again as he looked to the one it belonged to. Everyone briefly bowed as Alara entered and scanned the area before she found him. She smiled as she walked to him, making sure her hips swayed just the right way.

"What can I do for you, Alara?" Joran asked.

"Besides giving me a passion filled night?" she asked.

Joran looked unamused, so she fortunately cut to the chase, pulling a small scroll from her breasts and handing it to him. Joran looked curiously at it and his eyes slightly widened as he saw a wax direwolf seal. He looked back up at Alara as she said,

"This just arrived by raven from Winterfell."

Joran broke the seal and unrolled it before quickly reading. It was a contract. Lord Eddard Stark was personally requesting for him. Promising a large reward as well. Alara sat in Joran's lap and read it as well, despite his objection's.

"Well, look's like you will be headed for Winterfell come morning." she stated.

"So I will." Joran responded.


	3. Chapter 3

Joran sighed for probably the hundredth time as he finished his pint. He had hoped Alara would have left him to his own devices once he had finished his meal, which was an hour ago. Fortune was not in his favor however. She was making herself far too comfortable in his lap. The alcohol was not helping either. His mind was not blurred yet, but it was on it's way. The witcher could feel her shapely rear even through his trousers and her thick skirt. Joran ended up leaning back and just embraced his fate as he relaxed. Alara smirked down at him as she ended up sitting sideways in his lap, wrapping a slender arm as best she could around his large armored shoulders.

"Was that so hard?" she asked, her free hand running down his scratched leather and steel chest plate.

Joran looked at her with a blank expression, wondering why she would be doing this, especially when his armor was stinking and dirty. He was surprised her hand wasn't getting smeared with monster blood as she traced a fresh scratch. A few patron's were leaving, some with whores, as Alara spoke again.

"It's not true is it, Joran?" she asked of him seriously.

Joran's expression changed to confusion. This made her elaborate.

"That you feel nothing."

Joran was silent for a moment, wishing he had more to drink. The witcher was about to answer, but the witch cut him off.

"Because I cannot imagine such an existence. Unable to empathize, hate, be sad, love. You _must_ feel something." she all but begged, looking at him sadly.

Thankfully, the barmaid brought him a demijohn and rested it on the table before taking her leave. Alara grabbed it and poured more into his pint before taking a sip for herself, her eyes never leaving his.

"Sometimes." Joran answered, "I don't know much of love, but I have felt some of the other's. Just don't show it much. When you fight a monster or a man trying to kill you, your mind must not be controlled by emotion's. Witchers have mastered this technique. Clearing ourselves of all else except for our focus. Our goal being to reduce our enemy, be it man or beast, to a dead and bloody corpse at our feet."

Alara smiled softly as he took another sip.

"Good." she simply responded.

Joran found himself relaxing more as Alara took his medallion in her hand and ran her thumb over the wolf's snout and between it's metallic jaws.

"How did you earn it?" she asked without looking away from the medallion.

Joran hummed as the memory practically played before his cat eyes.

"I was tasked with climbing a mountain, killing the first monster I encountered, and taking it from the peak where I had to wait and survive until my mentor came to collect me. I ended up killing a ghoul with my bare hands and a rock before I had to take the elements for three days. Killed a few other creatures with the same rock before he arrived." the witcher explained.

Alara let out a hum of her own before letting his medallion drop back against his chest, the silver chain making a small 'chink' as it did. She took another drink and he did the same. She smiled again.

"See, witcher? This is all I wanted." Alara said.

"To get me drunk and fuck me?" Joran responded plainly.

The witch feigned offense as she put her right hand to her left breast over her heart.

"Why I never. You accuse me of trying to take advantage of such a legendary warrior as yourself with my feminine wiles?" she said, really laying it thick with the sarcasm.

Joran chuckled softly and shortly, giving a soft smile for the first time. This made Alara smirk again.

"Oh look. A smile. I might even be able to give you a bath tonight if I keep making such progress."

Joran rolled his eyes as she let out a small and beautiful laugh.

"Well, I do need a bath. And are you not dirtying your dress right now?" the witcher said.

Alara smirked and slowly shifted her rear end again. Joran was not amused as she was obviously trying to build up sexual tension by moving against him. He was not happy that it was slightly working either. One of the few things he barely had control of. His fucking cock.

"Why? Trying to get me off your comfortable lap? Push me off then if it makes you so uncomfortable." Alara challenged.

"The witcher's taught me never to strike a woman unless she's trying to kill me, sadly." Joran responded, drinking more.

"Ha!" she responded with triumph, staying firmly in her spot.

It was short lived however as the slowly quieting atmosphere was interrupted by a loud 'BANG'. Joran was up with a sword in hand as the bright amber colored portal made the tavern fifty times brighter as the few people left jumped back and shielded their eyes. Alara was next to Joran, her hands glowing with white magic. The portal quickly dispersed as a woman stepped from it. She walked confidently, a long pair of brown boots carrying her. Above those were black breeches and a short skirt. The tunic she wore was as dark blue as the night sky and complimented her slim and perfectly curved figure. Her modest bust was restrained by the leather chest plate that went just below the v collar under her neck. In the middle was a snarling dire wolf. She was beautiful, like all sorceresses, as her long and dark brown hair framed her face and stopped just above her shoulders. Her looks rivaled Alara's, but she was more dressed as though she were ready for battle with the light pieces of steel armor scattered around her clothing. Her light blue eyes bore into the witcher and sorceress as she rested her hands at her hips, a silver sword resting against her left. Joran knew she also had twin daggers resting against her lower back. The bard, tavern maid, and three drunk patrons only watched as Joran withdrew his blade as he smiled softly.

"Hello, Lainah." he greeted.

"Joran." she responded, smiling until she shifted to the other sorceress, "Alara." she finished with slight venom.

"Lainah." Alara said, giving just as much venom.

The witcher felt his medallion tremble as they used magic, still glaring at one another. Joran assumed they must've been using some form of telepathy. It was a solid ten seconds before they both tensed and magic flared in their hands.

_"__Ah shit." _Joran thought as the two got into different stances.

Green magic surrounded Alara's hands while lightning coursed in Lainah's palm's.

"How dare you say that to me, southern whore!" Lainah exclaimed in rage.

Alara smirked darkly as she readied to attack.

"Why don't you go grab my companion and I something to drink and eat before we retire for the night, northern wench."

Joran did not know exactly why the two despised each other so, but all either would say is that there was a reason they were appointed as far from each other as possible. Which is why they pretty much ended up on different ends of the world. The monster killer for hire sighed and stepped between them, not facing either in particular. This made the sorceresses pause as his eyes switched between them.

"Ladies, do please look at where you both are before you go blowing things, and innocent people, up." he reasoned.

The silence was eerie as they stood off and Joran waited. With huffs from both followed by glare's, they turned away and refused to look at one another. Joran relaxed a little and faced Lainah's back.

"What is it you're here for?" he asked calmly.

The beautiful witch sighed and slightly turned her head to him, speaking again with a softer Northern sounding accent than his.

"The situation in Winterfell is dire, Joran. Lord Stark had predicted your task here would be finished by now after he sent the scroll a few days ago. So, he sent me to fetch you posthaste. Seems my lord's tuition was right considering you are in this tavern with _her_."

Ignoring the not important parts, Joran responded.

"Well, his letter did sound serious. Even though he did not exactly know what I am up against."

"I have suspicion's, but I would appreciate your professional opinion before you go about killing it." Lainah confirmed with a nod as she waved her hand and a new portal appeared with a BANG.

"What about my horse?" Joran requested.

"I took the liberty of teleporting him not long ago along with your gear. He is comfortable in the Stark stable's as we speak." she answered.

Joran nodded in thanks before turning to Alara as Lainah walked through the portal. She smiled flirtatiously and walked up to him, pressing her breasts up against his armored chest and roaming the plating with her hands.

"Do come back some time, Joran." she told him.

"Hmm." was the simple response before he turned and followed Lainah.

* * *

Joran was met with a scoffing and cranky Lainah as he made it through and the portal closed behind him. Her hands were back on her hips as he realized they were in one of the tower's of Winterfell. Lainah's room/study to be exact. It was filled with instrument's of science, bookshelves, drawer's for her clothing, a mirror and a bathtub in one spot near a window, and a hearth in the middle. Pelts littered the stone floor and covered the large feather bed that occupied a spot next to another window. It was homely and comfortable while being professional at the same time. It was the same as the last time he was here as a cold breeze blew in and made the fire dance. Torches and candles also helped keep the room modestly lit along with the hearth.

"What were you doing with her?" Lainah asked lowly and angrily.

Joran looked back with a straight face and without fear.

"I wasn't planning on fucking her, if that's what you mean."

"Oh no, but you were well on your way to, weren't you?!" she exclaimed, raising her voice.

Joran sighed as she crossed her arms.

"What do you want me to say, Lainah? I mean, you are not my wife. I never heard you tell me you love me when we have shared a bed. All we can classify each other as is occasional lover's." the witcher explained.

Lainah clenched her jaw and slightly grinded her teeth as one of her feet began tapping in irritation. Joran knew he had backed her in a corner. She did this whenever she couldn't argue his point. Joran sighed again.

"Look. I'm sorry I may have ended up laying with her, but I didn't. I was not planning on it either, Lainah." Joran conceded.

Lainah let out a defeated sigh as Joran eyed the tub. He was actually glad to notice the steam coming off it in the cold Northern air. It was practically calling his name. Joran couldn't help himself as he walked to it, undoing the straps of his armor as he went. Lainah watched as he tossed down his gloves and his breastplate fell as Joran made it to the tub. It wasn't overly special besides the fact it was a nice big oval shaped brass bathtub. It was all Joran needed for his night to improve greatly. He had made it to his small clothes when he felt Lainah's delicate and soft hands helping him. He glanced back to see her soft smile as she pressed her body up against his lean and broad back. Her forehead barely came above his shoulder as her hands snaked around his hips to undo his breeches. He could feel her large breasts against his shoulder blades as the article of clothing dropped. The cold air crashed into his lower body as he stepped out of them and she help him get rid of his shirt, making sure to leave on his medallion. Joran felt her palm's and finger's trace the many scar's over his back as he slowly lifted a leg and stepped in.

Joran sighed softly at how warm the water was as it came up to just below his knees. The witcher faced the window as he breathed, making him inhale the scent's of the room and the sweet smell of the tub water. Lainah's hands left him as he heard the faint sound of magic being used, making his medallion tremble. He sank down to sit in the water with his back resting against the tub. And then the sorceress walked around into his line of sight. His eye's met her serious and seductive one's as she stood there naked in front of him. Those cat orb's slowly trailed down. Her small chin, slender and pale neck that he can remember leaving bite mark's on, her narrow shoulder's that framed her collar bone just above her bountiful and flawless breasts. Her stomach was lean and slim, her hips gorgeously wide. Joran almost licked his lips as he looked between her beautiful thighs to see her womanhood. Pink and clean of hair. Her thin ankles and small feet went into the tub on either side of him as Lainah faced him and straddled his lap. Joran relaxed as they stared at one another.

"Why are you so jealous?" he suddenly asked, trying to distract himself from the fact he could feel her entrance pressed down against his manhood as she rested her weight on him.

She smiled softly again as her fingers found the scar's on his chest and shoulders.

"Wouldn't you be jealous if you heard that I had decided to fuck someone else?" Lainah smirked knowingly as she said it.

"Hmm."

She was right. If Joran found that out, he'd end up gutting the unlucky bastard just to assert himself and show all other potential suitors what happens when they try to bed the sorceress currently using his lap as her own personal seat. Speaking of which, Lainah's smirk widened as she felt something waking up between them as it pulsed to life. She rested more against him, pressing her body fully against his, almost making both of them groan. Joran's calloused hands slowly traced her hips and lower back, making the woman straddling him purr in approval as her face hovered close above his. Her soft and smooth lips were so close as his hands softly traced her round rear end. It had been so long since they took pleasure in each other. Since he had the amazing feeling of being inside her. His manhood was practically jumping at the chance laid out for it as it throbbed against her entrance, already stiff and prepared to be one with her. His hands softly squeezed her ass, making her moan as he kissed her neck.

Joran continued to roam her, biting and sucking on her neck, wanting to mark it so other men would know to fuck off.

"Joran." she drew his name out in a long and soft groan as he bit down and sucked hard.

The witcher pulled away slightly to examine his work as his hands found her breasts and nipples, making her moan more at the firm yet soft touch driving her mad. One of her hands grabbed the back of his head as the other gripped the tub behind his left shoulder. He smirked at the big mark he left on her skin before tracing her jaw with his lips and teeth. Lainah gasped and her hips slowly ground down against his, making his cock rub up against her snatch under the water. Joran groaned lowly as he gently bit her jaw. He squeezed her breasts and ran his fingers over her nipples as he practically growled out against her,

"I would kill them slowly and painfully."

Lainah moaned, wanting him inside her as he grabbed her hips and pulled them down tighter against his so she could feel his desire for her. She undid the not in the back of his head to make his hair fall free around his shoulder's so she could grab it and pull his head back forcefully. He looked up at her as both their breathes began racing with their heartbeat's. Lainah surged to slam her soft lips against his slightly chapped and hard one's, kissing him with want and need. Joran gave her the same as he kissed back hard and passionately. Their heads turned and they breathed through their noses so they wouldn't have to separate as the passion and desire just kept rising. They touched and roamed each other until Lainah slightly pulled away and began lifting her hips. Her free hand disappeared under the water between them and Joran felt her grab him in her palm. The witcher groaned as the sorceress slowly stroked and her thumb rubbed his tip before she lined him up with the soft folds of her womanhood. Both groaned loudly as Lainah lowered, her welcoming warm and wet walls greeting him as she gripped and pulsed around his cock tightly. Lainah didn't stop until Joran was completely sheathed inside her and her hips were resting tighter against his. She bit his ear as he stroked her ass again.

His name left her lips again as she slowly moved, grinding down into him as he kissed and nipped below her ear. She purred and moaned again for him as he moved along, making the water splash slightly. Lainah grabbed the back of his head and the nape of his neck as he watched her ride him and traced her hips. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed as she slammed her hips down again and again, not pulling more than halfway from him. Her breasts bounced and jiggled along with her movements as he suddenly grabbed the back of her head and pulled her back to him, kissing her hard again. She kissed back with as much fervor as their rhythm sped up. Joran jammed up inside her tight womanhood every time as he groaned and their tongues clashed as they widened their mouths.

"Joran." she said again, moaning louder as he felt her shudder slightly around him.

Lainah was not at her peak just yet however as Joran groaned and moved along faster and harder, making her bounce up and down his length before she dropped down hard onto him every time.

"Lainah." he said lowly against her before she bit down on his lip and her nails raked over his shoulder blades.

Joran smirked up at her and she smirked back as a little bit of blood went down his lip from the bite. She took his lip into her mouth and licked it off before their tongue's fought again and they moved faster and harder. The water splashing and their noises of pleasure were the only sounds in the area as their coupling grew more and more intense. Joran could feel her shudder harder around him, bringing him closer to the edge as he jammed up inside her.

"Just a little longer." Lainah moaned out as she rolled her hips.

Joran groaned as he moved along as best as he could as his hands found her rear again, squeezing and kneading. Lainah moaned louder as Joran traced her jaw again before kissing his way to her collar. She arched against him, giving the witcher more access as he kissed her breasts and licked between them. He was driving the sorceress mad as she slowed down to savor him and grab his head in both hands to pull it closer as he sucked on her left mound of flesh and her nipple. Joran kept jamming up inside of her as he continued, taking her entire nipple and as much of her breast as he could into his mouth. Lainah begged for more as she kept moving slowly, but hard at the same time as her head leaned back and her eyes closed tightly. He practically made a meal of her breasts as he moved with her, making her scream. One hand came up to slowly stroke and squeeze her right breast as the other stayed at her rear. Joran wanted to leave more marks as he traced her collarbone with his teeth before biting down. Lainah screamed and suddenly started moving faster and harder again. They raced closer and closer to the end as some of the water splashed from the tub.

Joran cursed as he moved along and kept roaming her as he left more marks. Staking his claim on her. She left some marks of her own on him, reaching down to bite his shoulder and neck as her nails made his back bleed. Lainah's womanhood suddenly grew warmer and tighter as she shuddered again around him, making him groan louder. She screamed his name as her pace somehow became faster and harder. She bit and licked his ear as she moaned,

"Joran-" she was going to say more, but she suddenly arched again as she squeezed his cock tighter and stayed like that as he felt her pulse and release around him.

Joran's eyes rolled back and he closed them as she triggered his own ending as his cock spilled his seed inside of her. He pulled her hips down tight to his as he just kept throbbing and spilling more into her womanhood until he was finished and just stayed like that. They panted and Lainah rested against him, wrapping her arms around his head and ending up with his face pressed into her breasts again. They were quiet for the longest time before Joran chuckled softly. Lainah smirked as she pulled away a little to look at him, making sure not to pull from him too far and risk unsheathing from him.

"What?" she asked softly, still panting a little.

Joran smiled softly as he stroked her hips and thighs.

"Why is it becoming so hard for me just to take a bath?"

Joran chuckled more as she slapped his chest playfully and he leaned up more to be against her again, her body and the feel of her so addictive for him. Joran changed their position and hovered above her and the water as he kissed between her breasts, making sure not to pull from her entrance. Lainah's long legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he suddenly stiffened again inside her. She almost forgot he was like this as she moaned at feeling him throb inside her again. They were in for a long night.

* * *

The witcher and sorceress were taking a breathe on her soft bed. Joran had finally managed to get himself clean, but he and the woman currently relaxing over top of him were sweating. Even in the cold air. Bored of the silence as he looked up at the stone and wood ceiling, Joran spoke as he trailed his hands up her hips and sides.

"What do you think it may be?" Joran inquired.

Lainah hummed softly as one hand roamed him. She was quiet for a moment as she thought.

"The attack's started a fortnight ago. A villager here, a guard there. All the victim's were found a considerable distance from the castle, probably in an attempt to hide them or something of the sort. All the blood was drained of them and their hearts were missing." the witch explained.

Joran went serious as he looked at her.

"You think it's a vampire." he assumed.

Lainah nodded as she looked back.

"Victim's throats were ripped out to the bone."

She nodded again in confirmation as they both sat up, her straddling him once again as he rested with his hands supporting him.

"I need to look at those bodies. If I can get it's scent, we have a better chance of catching it." Joran told her.

Lainah pushed him back down and hovered over him again.

"That can wait until morning." she told him, softly brushing her lips against his tantalizingly, "Besides, you still need to see my lord before you do."

Joran groaned and gripped her ass as she jammed down onto him.

"Work and formalities. Fun." he managed before they were at it again.

* * *

Joran found himself in front of the great hall of Winterfell. His armor was clean and his weapon's freshly sharpened, loaded, and bottled. Guard's looked at him warily, but they knew who he was. Besides, Lainah was escorting him. She was wearing the same tunic and weapon's that she had the night before. Joran wanted to smirk as he noticed her movement's were a little stiff. A few female servant's smirked flirtatiously at him as they passed, making Lainah glare. The witcher opened one of the large oak doors for the sorceress as she asked,

"How long has it been since you were here? A year hasn't it?"

"Aye." he simply answered.

"Too long." she said with a smirk.

Joran smirked back as they walked down a short hall to the main door's. They still whispered to each other.

"I missed you, Joran." Lainah said honestly.

Joran could hear the familiar voices on the other side. He could smell the food along with the many people that occupied the great hall and kitchen's not far away. Lainah was about to open the last door, but he stopped it from moving with his hand. She looked at him questioningly, but he grabbed her around the waist with his free hand and jammed his lips to hers. She let out a surprised gasp before melting into it as he held her tight to him. It was a moment before they pulled away and Joran grabbed the door handle, still smirking as Lainah looked breathless.

"I missed you too." Joran told her, showing true emotion then before he opened the door.


End file.
